


Intermission

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 06:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1129170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“When Justin looks at Giriko sideways there’s nearly-a-smile at the corner of his mouth.” Drabbles featuring Justin and Giriko being domestic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cold

“What are you watching?” Justin asks as comes around the end of the couch. His eyes are on the book in his hands; it looks big and boring and he is so fixed on it Giriko is surprised he doesn’t run into the couch for lack of attention.

“You don’t care,” he says without any bitterness.

Justin glances up from the book to catch Giriko’s gaze with his sky-blue eyes, and when he smiles it bursts bright over his face and makes him look his age for a moment.

“You’re right.” He still comes around to sit on the end of the couch at Giriko’s head. The chainsaw sits up as Justin swings his legs sideways and up onto the cushions, neatly replacing the weight of Giriko’s body with his own. The priest is absorbed in his book again, but he idly stretches out his feet to hook his toes under the edge of Giriko’s shirt.  _That’s_  not a problem in itself, but then said toes actually hit Giriko’s bare skin and the chainsaw hisses and jerks away.

“Fucking hell, your feet are  _freezing_.”

“You’re  _warm_ ,” Justin says without looking up. He slides farther down on the couch to replace his feet against the chainsaw’s side, and Giriko flinches but doesn’t pull back this time.

“There are other options than using me as a goddamn personal  _heater_ ,” he grumbles, half-turning so he can lean back against the couch at an angle and bring his hands up to cover Justin’s feet and take the worst of the cold off faster.

“Yeah, I know.” Justin still doesn’t look up, but when Giriko glances at him the priest is smiling at the book, and the chainsaw’s pretty sure there’s nothing worth that level of pleasure in the pages. He huffs in a combination of exasperation and repressed amusement and turns his attention back to the show.

Justin’s feet, and Giriko’s hands, both stay where they are.


	2. Snacking

Justin’s first hint that Giriko isn’t asleep on the couch or watching TV  is not true is the smell of something cooking. His second hint is when he comes into the kitchen and finds Giriko peering into a saucepan with all the attention the chainsaw usually lacks.

“Giriko?” Justin comes up behind him to peer over his shoulder. “What are you making?”

“Pasta,” the chainsaw answers, distracted enough that he doesn’t even think to snap his response. “With a cream sauce and vegetables.”

“Mm.” The sauce smells delicious. Justin reaches out to dip a finger in it before Giriko can react. It’s too hot for comfort, burning his skin so he hisses, but he cools his finger by the expedient of sticking it in his mouth, and it tastes good enough that it’s worth it.

“Fuck, Justin,” Giriko says, and he must be  _really_  distracted to call Justin by his given name. He reaches out to grab the priest’s wrist and hold it away, although Justin’s already clear of the saucepan. “It’s not ready yet. And it’s  _hot_.”

“I noticed.” Justin grins even though Giriko’s not looking at him and steps away to investigate the rest of the counter. “It’s really good.”

Giriko grunts in wordless acknowledgment of the compliment and turns back to the pan, leaving Justin free to poke through the rest of the ingredients laid out on the counter. There’s a bowl of hot cooked pasta ready for the sauce and a variety of chopped vegetables laid out on cutting boards; Justin works his way down the table, nibbling on a cooked noodle before moving on to the uncooked peppers and squash.

“Goddamn it.” Giriko has turned back from the sauce and caught Justin with his mouth full of zucchini and a noodle in his hand. “You’re gonna fucking eat everything before I even have a chance to cook it.” He fishes the cutting board out from under the priest’s elbow; Justin moves his arm obligingly but grabs another slice of pepper off as it goes by. Giriko glances at him; Justin is prepared for a snarl or a half-hearted slap, but instead the chainsaw just rolls his eyes and turns back to the saucepan to slide the additions into the bubbling liquid. His unexpected passivity becomes clear as he mutters down into the saucepan, “Maybe if you eat a little more you’ll be less fucking skinny.”

Justin blinks at the back of his head, and when a smile hits his face he’s glad Giriko can’t see him. When he reaches for another noodle the chainsaw glances at his hand but doesn’t say anything, and when Justin looks at him sideways there’s nearly-a-smile at the corner of Giriko’s mouth too.


	3. Idle

It takes Justin some time to track down Giriko when he comes out into the main area of the house. Usually it’s easy to follow the sound of the television or the murmur of cursing or the smell of cooking to wherever the chainsaw happens to be, but the house is as silent as it would be if it were empty.

Justin moves quietly in deference to the quiet surrounding him, so Giriko is still asleep on the living room couch when he comes through the entry. The television is off -- the chainsaw doesn’t always do that, when he falls asleep on the couch, but this time he managed. He’s sprawled out over the cushions, one arm dangling over the edge of the sofa and the other thrown up over his head; he’s managed to get one leg up over the back of the couch as well, a feat only possible due to his inordinately long legs. Even in his sleep he looks messy, big and expansive and sprawling, and he’s almost scowling even with his face relaxed, his forehead creased into lines of unconscious irritation.

He still makes Justin smile.

The priest comes into the room perfectly silently; he can’t even hear his movements, and Giriko is a relatively deep sleeper and doesn’t move as he approaches. Sitting down on the end of the couch gets a shift and a meaningless grumble, but then Justin reaches out to touch his fingers lightly against the chainsaw’s spiky hair, and Giriko’s face relaxes and he stops moving, like he’s been soothed into passivity. At this angle the chain around his neck is visible, hanging loose outside the rumpled collar of his shirt; Justin shifts his hand to touch the links and take the weight of the metal. It’s just a chain, no additional details or ornaments other than the metal itself, like the chainsaw’s earrings and the plain grey band over the bridge of his nose, but the weight of it is pleasant in Justin’s palm, and the links slip loose when he slides his fingers over them.

Giriko doesn’t move at this additional touch at his neck. He stays perfectly still, the scowl gone from his face; he’s not smiling, but he looks properly relaxed now, calm and quiet, and that’s unusual enough that Justin appreciates the rarity while his fingers idly work over the texture of the chainsaw’s necklace.


	4. Damage

Giriko doesn’t move when he hears the front door open. Experience has taught him that he can remain exactly where he is and amusement in the form of a skinny blond priest will shortly present itself.

Once again, experience proves itself. Justin comes around the corner, looking slightly breathless and sweaty, and pauses to watch the TV for a minute.

“Are you watching a cartoon, Giriko?”

“‘S an anime.” Giriko offers, looking back at the screen. “You always look like that after assignments?”

Justin laughs and starts pulling his robe up over his head. “Dirty? Yeah, unless the fight was easier than it should have been.” There’s movement in the corner of Giriko’s eye as Justin slides his shoulder free and loops the fabric over his arm. “I’m going to take a shower, I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” Giriko starts to say, but then he glances back at Justin and his distraction vanishes. “Fuck, wait,  _stop._ ”

Justin pauses in the doorway, looking perplexed, and Giriko sits up, comes onto his knees on the couch to reach out for his arm. “ _Fuck_ , what  _happened_?”

“What?” Justin sounds utterly perplexed. Giriko sighs and grabs at the priest’s arm, where a whole array of bruises are rising dark red under the skin of his forearm.

“ _This_.” His grip is tight but his fingers are deliberately gentle over the damaged skin. “What the hell happened to you?”

Justin is staring at him, as wide-eyed as if he doesn’t speak the language Giriko is using. “I went on an assignment.” He is speaking slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid Giriko won’t understand the words. “I fought against the target?”

Giriko blinks at him. “This doesn’t happen all the time.” It’s a statement of what he’s hoping rather than a question.

Justin shrugs one-shouldered with the arm Giriko’s not currently holding. “No. Sometimes it’s worse. This was pretty minimal, actually, I don’t think I even broke anything.”

“ _What._ ”

Justin sighs and tosses his armful of fabric over the back of the couch. “Look.” He tugs his t-shirt up over his head without flinching; this in and of itself isn’t particularly surprising until Giriko sees the pattern of bruises all across his torso. There’s one that’s pretty clearly from a punch, another that has the distinct outline of a foot.

Giriko makes a whining noise and Justin looks down to touch the outline. “Yeah, I thought this was going to crack a rib or two. But I think they came in sideways, so I missed that this time.” He smiles, like  _not_  breaking ribs is a treat or something. “I should be healed up from the bruises in a couple days so I won’t need to wait for any breaks to heal before I can go back out.”

“No.” Giriko speaks without thinking but he doesn’t try to take it back. “No, no, you’re not going back out if you come back like  _this_  every time. You’ve  _never_  looked like this before, not since I’ve been around.”

Justin blinks at him. “I haven’t taken an assignment since you moved in. I needed to be around to act as your chaperone at first and they only just sent me back out. What on  _earth_  are you so worried about?”

Giriko whimpers again, language totally failing him in the face of the combat injury all across Justin’s skin, and he reaches out as he turns his face away. “Come here.”

Justin does, although Giriko can still see confusion on his face in his periphery. Once his weight is settled next to the chainsaw Giriko loops an arm around his skinny shoulders (skinny, too  _fucking_  skinny, that’s the problem) and pulls him in until the priest tips sideways and his weight is resting against the chainsaw’s chest.

He doesn’t know what to say, and he isn’t sure he can voice words around the knot in his throat even if he did. Giriko swallows hard, clears his throat, and says without looking down, “You  _have_  to eat more or you’ll get yourself killed.”

There’s a pause. Then Justin brings his arms up to wrap around Giriko’s chest, and the chainsaw holds him steady and breathes in deep and shuts his eyes.


End file.
